


Donald Duck

by ProgramasaurusRex



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProgramasaurusRex/pseuds/ProgramasaurusRex
Summary: Dinesh Chugtai is a seaman and medic in the Pakistani navy. Stranded on a desert island, he encounters Bertram Gilfoyle, a fugitive of the Canadian navy. Their countries are at war, but Bertram is wounded. They will have to work together to survive.
Relationships: Dinesh Chugtai/Bertram Gilfoyle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Silicon Valley Winter Exchange 2k19





	Donald Duck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theatricuddles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatricuddles/gifts).



> This was written for theatricuddles (Rachel) for the SV Winter Exchange 2x19.
> 
> Yes, I know there was never any war between Canada and Pakistan, and that Pakistan wasn't even really around yet during this era, and that this whole story is wildly historically inaccurate. Sue me.

As Dinesh Chugtai, Seaman first class, fought his way through the tossing waves of the Pacific, he felt a sudden gratitude for the grueling training he'd endured when he first joined the Pakistani navy a year ago. The old Dinesh would have surely drowned by now. As it was, his newly muscular arms carried him toward the dot of land he'd spotted with relative ease. Finally, he made it to the shore of a seemingly deserted island and promptly fell unconscious.

When he awoke, he was sure he could hear noises in the distance.

He pulled out his sword. "Who goes there?" he called, striding toward the trees.

No one answered, but he heard another rustle coming from a thicket of bushes. He cautiously approached. When he was within five feet, a man stood up.

He was tall and thin, with long dark hair, a handsome sort of man. He was leaning his weight on a large stick of wood, as if he was not steady on his legs, although he was making a poor attempt to hold the stick behind his back. His other hand held a sword. And he was dressed in the deep red jacket of the Canadian navy.

Dinesh stopped walking. The lapdogs of the English were his sworn enemy. But between his unusual height and his long reach, the man looked like he would destroy Dinesh in a sword fight. In truth, Dinesh had little heart for combat.

"Come any closer and I will slice off your abnormally large ears," snarled the man.

Dinesh removed his hat. "Dinesh Chugtai, at your service, definitely not coming any closer."

The man regarded him with suspicious brown eyes. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Uh ... just fell overboard, you know, by accident," said Dinesh, looking down. "Look ... we are alone on this island, are we not?"

The man folded his arms. "I would be a fool to answer that."

Dinesh looked at him shrewdly. "We are, though. It is quite a small island, more of a sandbar, really, and there is obviously no one here but you and me. And you seem to be having some trouble standing up. So I really think it might be better if we both forgot about the colors on our uniforms for the time being."

Dinesh removed his dark green coat and threw it on the sandy ground.

"I would want to remove that coat, too, if it were mine," said the man. "Why should I trust you?"

"You do not have much of a choice," said Dinesh, pulling a roll of bandages out of his knapsack. "I can see that your leg is badly wounded, sir. Why not come here and let me tend to it?"

The man limped out of his bush. With the tip of his sword, he began drawing a line right through the ground between them.

"What is that you are drawing?" asked Dinesh.

"Stay on your own side of the line," said the man. "And I will stay on mine."

The man began to stride across the tiny island, continuing the line. Dinesh walked with him on his own side. "What is your name, by the way?" asked Dinesh casually.

The man sighed. "Bertram Gilfoyle," he said.

"And how do you come to be on this island, Bertram?" asked Dinesh.

"Does it matter?" Bertram asked.

"Well, you are the only person I have to talk to for the foreseeable future," said Dinesh. "I am sure we will be familiar with one another's life stories soon enough."

"You assume wrong," said Bertram.

"But surely we ought to work together to survive," Dinesh suggested. "Or to be rescued."

"Who says I want to be rescued?" Bertram asked.

After about ten meters of labored limping, Bertram's face contorted itself in pain. He abruptly sat down on the ground.

"Truly, I am trained as a medic," said Dinesh softly. "I can dress your wound properly."

Walking around the portion of the line which had already been drawn, he sat down beside Bertram. Face burning red, Bertram pulled up his trouser leg.

Gently, Dinesh cleaned the dried blood off Bertram's leg with a handkerchief dipped in water from his canteen, noting his new companion's pale but well formed limbs. He applied a salve which caused Bertram to wince, though he tried mightily to hide it. Then, Dinesh carefully wrapped the thigh in plaster bandages.

"This is a stab wound," Dinesh observed.

"A sparkling deduction," Bertram replied.

Dinesh could see that Bertram guarded information most jealously. There would be no ready storytelling here. This was only natural given their precarious situation. Bertram was clearly a proud sort of person, and to be sitting here with Dinesh, exposing a weakness, allowing his foe close enough to note his clenched jaw and pained eyes, had to be costing Bertram dearly. Even Dinesh's own comrades often carried a streak of stubbornness about receiving treatment; receiving it from an enemy soldier had to be terrifying. Fortunately, Dinesh was practiced in discreetly looking away at critical moments.

Dinesh patted Bertram tentatively on the shoulder and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring look. "This should be dry in about an hour," said Dinesh. "Incidentally," he added, looking at his canteen, "is there a source of water on this island? Or food?"

"There's a spring of fresh water on the southern end," said Bertram. "And there are some fruit trees about."

Dinesh felt better knowing that they wouldn't die, at least of thirst or hunger. But it was essential that he gain the friendship and trust of Bertram Gilfoyle before his leg was healed. Dinesh didn't need an antagonist other than nature, and he could certainly use an ally. Besides, there was something he liked about Bertram. He got the feeling the other man was more afraid than aggressive, that he had seen much and been made wary because of it. In fact, he reminded Dinesh of some of the livestock on his uncle's farm. Sometimes, the best way to handle injured wild creatures was to sit quietly with them, not moving, not speaking, merely existing in parallel, until they had accepted the existence of a benevolent companion. So, for a few minutes, he did just that.

"Is that your shelter?" he asked after a time, pointing out a few logs and rocks stacked together to form the start of a small enclosed space.

"Yes," said Bertram.

"Then you've only been here a couple of days?" Dinesh guessed.

Bertram folded his arms and didn't respond.

"I'll gather some wood for a fire," Dinesh offered, because the sun was going down.

They both felt slightly more comfortable once a bright campfire blazed beside them, as well as a pile of bananas and seaweed. In the firelight, Bertram's face looked softer. The thought made Dinesh look away, remembering the incident that had gotten him thrown off 0f his ship in the first place. Just as bad as making an enemy of the other man would be going too far. Muslim or Christian, those feelings were considered a serious sin. Instead, he tucked his jacket under his head and tried to sleep. He dreamed of surly Canadians.

When he awoke, the fire was out and Bertram was gone. Dinesh thought about which was more urgent, rescue or shelter. He decided on shelter. If he attracted the attention of a ship right now, it would most likely be either the ship which had thrown him overboard, or Bertram's Canadian ship, neither of which would be much help to him at the moment. Their former comrades were probably firing cannons at each other right now. Best to wait a few days at least. Besides, he needed to have some sort of shelter up by the next storm. The weather in these parts was unpredictable.

He glanced over at Bertram's side of the island. Bertram appeared to be slowly gathering more logs for his shelter. Dinesh envied his confident movements. He decided to stay out of Bertram's way for awhile, and began building his own shelter on his side of the island. He deliberately set out to make his shelter bigger than Bertram's. The outline he drew was five square meters. By the time evening fell, it was only as high as his knees.

Unfortunately, it rained that night.

Dinesh curled up under his jacket, but he was soon soaking wet. He couldn't sleep, and he was very, very cold. He was wondering if it was possible to die from hypothermia in the tropics, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You look like you could use a place to stay," said Bertram.

Gratefully, Dinesh looked out from under his makeshift bedding.

Bertram tapped the plaster on his leg. "I pay my debts," he said.

Dinesh trudged across the island to Bertram's little hut, noting with satisfaction that Bertram seemed to be walking more easily. The two of them lay down in the small space together and listened to the rain on the logs. Bertram must have filled the cracks in the roof with clay or something, because it didn't leak. Dinesh was still a little annoyed that a man with only one good leg had built a shelter more quickly than he had, even with a head start. But it was hard to be too mad. Bertram's act of generosity had to be a good sign.

"If you aren't trying to be rescued," asked Dinesh, settling his hands behind his head, "what do you plan to do? Live out the rest of your life here on this island?"

Bertram looked over sleepily. "I don't like people," he said. "This island was mercifully bereft of them before you came along. One day it may be so again."

Dinesh chuckled and said, "This war business would make a misanthrope of anyone."

"It wasn't the war," Bertram mused. "I was born this way."

"Then you joined the navy to remove men from the world more efficiently?" Dinesh suggested.

"I joined the navy," said Bertram, "to get out of Canada."

"I cannot blame you for that," said Dinesh.

Bertram's face relaxed as he asked, "What is your plan in the coming days?"

"I suppose I ought to build a raft and try to rejoin civilization," said Dinesh. "But I am in no hurry. I have nowhere in particular to be anymore. My family would not accept me home knowing I had not left the navy on good terms."

"Tossing you overboard does tend to be a sign that you are not welcome," Bertram observed. "What did you do, anyway? I have you pegged as a petty thief."

"You keep your secrets, and I shall keep mine," said Dinesh, rolling on to his side, away from Bertram's keen eyes.

Bertram replied, "Funny, you do not strike me as a man who could keep a secret to save your life."

Their heads were close enough together to hear each other breathing. It was soothing to have a warm person next to him; Dinesh hadn't slept a night alone since joining the navy.

A pang of loneliness washed over him. He wished that he were married, that he had somebody waiting for him back home. His family had hoped the navy would make a man of him. But though his body had changed, he remained the same inside. What woman would ever look to him for strength, he that ran from a fight or a chore whenever he could get away with it? It was a shame he hadn't been born a woman. Idly he fantasized about being a wife, perhaps Bertram's war bride. Bertram could protect him and handle all the difficult work and shoulder all the burdens. Or they could take it in turns, carry the burdens together, just the two of them on this island. Dinesh knew only that he felt safe at the side of this strange, confident man, hostile though he seemed at times. As long as Bertram was here, the two of them would make it out of this alive.

When Dinesh awoke, he found his limbs entwined with Bertram's. He knew this was a dangerous state of affairs, but he could not bring himself to pull away. The sensation was too heavenly, and he needed it too much right now. Perhaps he could simply pretend to be asleep until Bertram woke, then claim the cold had driven them together, or that men in Pakistan always slept cuddled up together like cats.

"I know you're awake," said Bertram. "And I know why your shipmates threw you overboard."

Dinesh sat bolt upright. "You were right. I was a thief," he said, but not very convincingly.

Bertram sat up, too. "Let us call a spade a spade," he said. "You are a homosexual."

Dinesh tried to crawl out of the hut, but Bertram stopped him.

"No need to deny it," said Bertram. "I have no one to tell."

Dinesh sat back down."You would share your home with a sinner?"

"Everyone in this room is a sinner," Bertram replied. "We simply have different methods."

Dinesh's mind was racing. Was there really someone else in the world who didn't mind his proclivities? He felt cautiously happy.

"What happened?" Bertram asked.

"I tried to kiss the first mate," said Dinesh miserably, pulling his knees in. "Stupid of me."

"Did he lead you on?" Bertram asked.

"I think so," said Dinesh. "We danced on the deck often enough, when the piper played. He sought me out for games of cards. I may have seen what I wanted to see. In truth there is no happiness for the likes of me on this earth."

"Happiness?" Bertram laughed. "Happiness is for those who wrest it from the devil's hands."

And he leaned over, took Dinesh into his arms, and kissed him.

Dinesh pulled back. "I think I know why you got stabbed," he said, his breath ragged. "Was it worth it?"

Bertram just smiled enigmatically.

Over the next few weeks, the men worked together to expand the shelter, to build a privy and a fine fireplace into it. They dug a well to give them easier access to water, hunted the wild boars that lived on the island, experimented with different ways to cook the various plant life, and just generally settled in. Sometimes they each built their own version of something, just to see whose was better. Though on much friendlier terms these days, there remained an undercurrent of competition.

"What was your profession before the navy?" Dinesh asked Bertram one night as they sat by the fire.

"Who says I had any?" Bertram replied, pulling his arm around Dinesh.

"You must have been some sort of engineer," Dinesh replied. "You are clever at inventing new conveniences for us."

Bertram smiled. "Something of the sort," he agreed.

Dinesh's eyes clouded. "Do you think there is a place for us out there anywhere, outside of this island?"

"Missing your silk sheets and your fine chocolates, Princess?" Bertram teased.

Dinesh blushed. "You cannot really expect us to stay here forever."

"A place for a white Canadian man and a brown Pakistani man to live as lovers," mused Bertram. "I have heard rumors of places where such a thing might be possible. Some corners of this Earth are more libertarian than others. Siam, perhaps, or California. The surplus of gold and the dearth of women and sheriffs has made California a lawless place indeed."

"Suppose we built a boat," Dinesh suggested. "Not for rescue, but to sail us around the world. We could find a place that suited us."

"We have no money for supplies," said Bertram. "We might have to resort to piracy."

The corners of both their mouths turned up.

"If we don't like it, we can always return here," said Dinesh.

"It's a deal," said Bertram. "I shall begin to think of designs for boats."

The sun set, and they fell asleep, lost in each other and in their mutual cleverness.


End file.
